


(you are) my sun, my moon, and all my stars

by Astrals (Evoxine)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, It's pretty much love at first sight, Lingerie, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Strippers & Strip Clubs, They're both softies for each other, Very brief and not between Sheith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 09:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15771639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Astrals
Summary: In all universes, it always starts out with Shiro saving Keith. This one is no different.---A biker!Shiro and stripper!Keith fic, one written purely for the author's indulgence.





	(you are) my sun, my moon, and all my stars

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I just wanted to write long, silver-haired biker!Shiro and sultry, lingerie-loving stripper!Keith, complete with their immeasurable love that spans galaxies.

Music spills out from between heavy black doors. The line splits right down the middle for the five of them, newcomers to the club following the regulars’ lead immediately at the sight of long white hair and a metallic arm. _Atlas_ is the moniker given to the bikers, alluding to the way the city thrives and revolves around them, as well as how their influence seems to spread throughout all corners.

They’re adamant that _Atlas_ is not a biker gang. _Atlas_ is simply a group of friends, brought together in the early years of the university careers by a love for motorcycles and making sure their beloved city runs well.

Takashi Shirogane, the unofficial leader and everyone’s favourite heartthrob, runs his own gym franchise that also offers free showers to the homeless. He volunteers at orphanages every Saturday, is somehow always available to referee little league games, and often drops by physical rehab centres to help out. James Griffin dropped out of university in his junior year to enlist in the army, becoming one of their best pilots in record time. He’d joined out of love for his country, but the realities of war shattered the pair of rose coloured glasses he had on. When he returned a few years later, he’d decided to devote all of his time to helping troubled veterans find a footing in life.

Ina Leifsdottir is a credited genius, and she spends most of her time holed up in her workshop where she invents various gadgets that help improve quality of life for individuals with disabilities. She’d been inspired by Shiro’s struggles with his prosthetic, and he now boasts an arm created by her. Ryan Kinkade and Nadia Rizavi co-run a self-defense business that is largely targeted towards women. Veronica, Nadia’s girlfriend and the driving force behind the business’ establishment, helps teach classes. She’s an extension of _Atlas_ , her balance too shitty to stay on a bike long enough to consider herself part of the group.

It is also through Veronica – her brother works there – that they discovered the gem that is _Paladins_ , a high-end club that promotes rights and equality for sex workers. They’d fallen in love with the place almost instantly, drawn in by the open space, good music, and affordable menu, and it’s not uncommon to see them stop by several times a week after work for a couple of hours of relaxation.

Tonight sees them park their bikes several metres from the entrance, helmets dangling off handlebars as they fix their hair and smooth out the wrinkles in their clothes.

Striding up to the doors, Shiro gives Hunk a fist bump and a fifty dollar bill – he’s saving up to repay his student loans – before stepping inside the club. The other four follow suit, letting Shiro handle the small talk Romelle always seems to love striking up before escorting them to their usual table in the Black Room (the light is purple instead of black, but who’s nitpicking?).

“Good evening, my dears.”

Shiro glances up and smiles at Allura. She owns the club, and they’ve become fast friends. It’s actually a little embarrassing, how they’re able to spend a solid thirty minutes talking about their matching manes of white hair. It’s even more embarrassing, the fact that they’ve done that on more than one occasion.

“So what will it be tonight?”

“The usual,” Shiro says, “unless Coran’s running the bar. In which case, give me the most complicated thing on your menu.”

Allura rolls her eyes and reaches out to pinch Shiro’s nose. “Don’t be a twat, you _know_ he’s working tonight.”

“That warning is a little too late,” James says lightly. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with him on a daily basis.” Next to him, Ina chokes on a handful of peanuts.

“You’re absolutely right,” Allura says. “I don’t know how you handle it!”

Shiro slumps into his seat with an exaggerated pout on his face, looking so adorably put-out that Allura laughs and ruffles his hair. “Alright, alright, I’ll make sure to give poor Coran a hard time.”

She strides away in a flurry of blue silk, and Shiro gestures for Nadia to punch James in the arm as revenge.

 

 

 

  
They’re well into their second round of drinks and bar snacks when a commotion erupts in the Red Room. A deafening crash cuts Nadia’s sentence short, and the five of them rise up from their seats immediately.

“The hell was that?”

“Sounded like glass,” Ina answers, glasses glinting under the strobe lights. “A lot of it.”

“I’m gonna go check it out,” Shiro says, striding over to the partition and crossing over into the Red Room. It takes him a good eight seconds to figure out what exactly caused the crash, and as soon as he does, anger pulses from his heart to all of his extremities.

There’s a stocky man pinning one of the strippers to the wall, the remains of a shattered glass cabinet by his feet, as he paws at crimson red cheekies with a meaty hand. The dancer’s struggling, kicking out with heeled feet, but he doesn’t seem to be able to pull free. Shiro can’t hear what he’s yelling, the roar of blood too loud in his ears, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. The other patrons seem too afraid to get involved, so Shiro walks up, taps the guy on the shoulder and growls a deep, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Fuck off,” is the response he gets. “Mind your own fucking business.”

“You wanna turn around and say that to my face?”

Shiro doesn’t like getting physical – he believes any altercation can be solved with words and reason, but there are just some instances where a good punch is the best possible solution. This is definitely shaping up to be one of those instances.

“Yeah, asshole, I’ll –”

The man pales instantly, bloodshot eyes functioning enough to register the fact that it’s Shiro looming over him, six foot and two inches of pure muscle ready to flatten him out against the ground. The satisfaction Shiro feels when he glimpses the fear flit through the man’s eyes is almost enough to quench the thirst for blood, but not quite.

“Go on then,” Shiro says, as sweet as honey. “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

The vice-like grip on the dancer’s wrists slackens and the dancer squirms free. Instead of running, Shiro watches in delighted surprise as he lands a solid punch to the man’s nose, waiting until he sees blood before he darts away. He doesn’t go far though, choosing to hide behind Shiro’s large frame. Shiro crooks an eyebrow at the cowering man.

“Well?”

“F-fuck off.” Oh, that’s a pleasant surprise. Shiro has to give the man some props – he actually did what he said he would. With a busted nose, no less. “That whore doesn’t belong to you.”

“What’s your name, buddy?”

“...Mikael.”

“Okay, Mikael. You want to apologise for your choice of words there?”

“Fuck you,” Mikael stammers out.

He can hear James’ warning voice somewhere to his left, there’s a hand on his forearm that feels a lot like Ryan’s touch, and he’s pretty sure a few bouncers are currently making their way over to where he’s at. But the itch to deck Asshole Mikael is getting progressively worse by the second, and it takes Shiro merely a few seconds to contemplate the decision before he curls his prosthetic fingers into a fist and pulls his arm back.

“Ah shit,” he hears Nadia say, right before his fist collides with the man’s jaw. He feels the bone crunch, and Mikael collapses like a house of cards onto glass shards.

Bending down, Shiro hoists a dazed Mikael back to his feet with a hand fisted in his collar.

“If you dare step foot into this club again, I promise you, I’ll make your life a living hell. You understand me?”

He gets a popped blood bubble at the corner of Mikael’s mouth in answer.

Hunk and Allura appear in the corner of his eye, and Shiro all but throws Mikael towards the bouncer.

“Get him out of here,” he mutters, suddenly painfully aware of the dancer’s presence behind him.

The first thing Shiro’s gaze lands on when he turns around is a pair of stunning violet eyes. The second thing Shiro’s gaze lands on is a scar running up a creamy cheek. He looks familiar, but Shiro can’t quite put his finger on it. It’s probably because he’s knocked a little off-kilter, rendered a little breathless, and the beginnings of a flush is rising up his cheeks. This is new – he’s never had someone sweep him off his feet like this, much less in such a charged situation.

“You okay?”

“Um,” the dancer utters, then promptly proceeds to fling his arms around Shiro’s middle and squeeze the life out of him. Shiro returns his hug out of pure instinct. “Thank you,” he says, words muffled by Shiro’s leather jacket. “Your punch was better than mine, and he really fucking deserved that.”

Over the dancer’s head of messy black hair, Shiro locks eyes with Allura.

 _What do I do,_ he asks. Allura simply smiles, a little sadly, at him. _That’s helpful._

“Are you hurt?”

“Don’t know,” the dancer says, pulling away and rubbing at his arms. Squinting through the red light, Shiro manages to make out a smattering of cuts down the man’s bare legs, as well as bruises around his wrists and neck. He takes a deep breath, keenly aware of the anger still simmering away, and shrugs out of his jacket before draping it over slim shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get you checked up. Allura, do you have a first-aid kit?”

 

 

 

  
The employees’ locker room is blessedly empty, and Shiro knows that James and Ryan will stop anyone from entering while he patches the dancer back up.

“What’s your name?” Shiro asks, gesturing to an armchair.

“Keith.” The armchair squeaks and deflates when Keith settles down into it.

“I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances,” Shiro sighs, taking a spot on the ground in front of Keith. After pulling his hair back into a messy bun, he opens up the first-aid kit and hunts for a pair of tweezers. “I’m –”

“Shiro,” Keith says. “I uh, I know who you are. We’ve met, actually. Very briefly. I’m friends with Lance.”

“I knew I found you familiar,” Shiro comments. “Although I must say, we must not have spent more than a few seconds together, because I would have most definitely remembered your name if we did.”

Shiro glances up at him then, unable to fight back a small smile when he sees a blush spreading across high cheekbones. Underneath fluorescent lights, Keith’s eyes are even more beautiful, almost impossibly so. Then Keith shifts, wincing when the material of the couch rubs against his cuts. Shiro’s smile vanishes almost instantly when an urge to punch Mikael a second time surges forward like a tsunami.

“I’m gonna look for bits and pieces of glass that might’ve ended up in these cuts, okay? Sorry if my prosthetic is cold.”

Keith nods, pulling the jacket tighter around his body.

He finds a few shards of glass that he pulls out of Keith’s flesh with the tweezers – the dancer stays quiet through it all, although he does flinch when Shiro extracts a particularly large shard out of his thigh.

Shiro works efficiently, hyper-aware of Keith’s eyes on him as he patches him up.

“You’re good at this,” Keith comments.

“My friends and I picked up some skills over the years,” Shiro laughs. “Motorcycles aren’t exactly the safest mode of transportation. Learning how to patch ourselves up made more sense compared to having to visit the ER just for a few stitches. Okay, this is going to hurt, but I have to clean the wounds.”

He runs an antiseptic-soaked cotton pad over the cuts, blowing cool air over them as he does so in order to soothe the sting. After drying them, Shiro closes the larger cuts with butterfly stitches and covers the rest with band-aids.

“Let me look at the rest of you?”

Keith hesitates for a moment.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Shiro hurries to add.

With a little nod, Keith stands and lets Shiro’s jacket fall.

“My god,” Shiro mutters, staring at the finger-shaped bruises all over Keith’s hips, arms, and neck. There are scratches too, lines of angry red welts marring Keith’s milky skin. “I’m –”

“It happens occasionally,” Keith mumbles. “Allura does her best, but it’s hard to control what type of people come in here.”

Shiro clenches his jaw and sets to work cleaning up the scratches.

When he finishes, he covers Keith back up with his jacket and packs away the first-aid supplies, mind whirring as he does so.

“Thanks,” Keith says again. “For everything.”

“Let me bring you home,” Shiro blurts, turning around to look at Keith. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk out of this club knowing you’re still here, all scratched up like this.”

There’s a pregnant pause, then Keith breaks into a stunning smile and says, “You know, I had my doubts, but you really are just as nice as people say.”

“I punched a dude,” Shiro deadpans. “Probably fractured his jaw. I hope I broke it.”

“I punched a dude too. But you punched a dude out of good intentions,” Keith shrugs, still smiling. “Let me go change?”

 

 

 

  
Keith comes out of the changing rooms dressed in black jeans and a red tank that does nothing to hide his bruises. So Shiro tells him to hold onto the jacket and tries not to think about how good Keith looks wearing his jacket.

James is leaning against the opposite wall when Shiro opens the door.

“Allura’s got the guy blacklisted. He’ll be paying for the damages he caused, and he offered two month’s pay in compensation.” James gestures to Keith in lieu of an explanation.

“Better something than nothing,” Shiro mutters. ‘I’m gonna bring him home. Feel free to use my tab if you guys are staying.”

“We’ll stay to help Allura clean up,” James says. “Ina and Pidge have some gadget they’re trying out – apparently it can detect every single piece of glass on the floor.”

After bidding the other four goodbye, Shiro guides Keith through the club with a firm hand against the small of his back, only stopping to let Allura fret over him for a few moments before they exit through a side door.

“Wait here for me,” Shiro says, then jogs around the side of the building to retrieve his bike.

It’s the love of his life, MV Agusta’s F3 675 in ice white. The engine runs like a dream, and at 128 horsepower, it’s more than enough to give him that burst of adrenaline he loves. He waves goodbye to Hunk before revving the engine and pulling around, helmet tucked under his arm as he rounds the corner.

“Here,” he says, offering his helmet to Keith. “Make sure it’s secure, okay?”

Keith takes the helmet, but he makes no move to put it on.

“Um, Keith?”

“That’s a very sexy bike,” he says, staring at the vehicle purring away between Shiro’s thighs. His gaze slowly drags up to Shiro’s face. “Suits you.”

If Shiro had a mouthful of water to spit out, he would’ve definitely spat it out. Thankfully, neither one of them chooses to comment on the redness of Shiro’s cheeks or the way Keith nearly takes his own eye out when he yanks on the helmet with way more force than is necessary.

“Hold on tight,” Shiro says, waiting until Keith’s arms are secure around his waist before executing a sharp turn and bulleting off into the night.

 

 

 

  
“Thanks,” Keith says, unwinding his arms from around Shiro’s waist. Shiro misses his touch instantly, but he pushes that thought out of his head as Keith hops off the bike and frees his locks from the prison of his helmet. “For bringing me home, patching me up, and giving that creep a sock to the jaw.”

“Of course.” Shiro takes the helmet off Keith’s hands and looks deep into pools of violet. “Anytime. Even the punch to the jaw.” That makes Keith smile. “Make sure you keep those cuts clean.”

Keith nods, taking a few steps backwards in the direction of his apartment block but making no move to break their eye contact. He’s just about to slip his hands into the jacket’s pockets when he remembers that the jacket isn’t his.

“Oh,” he says, shrugging the jacket off. “Before I forget –”

“Keep it,” Shiro interjects. “Looks better on you anyway.”

Keith’s fingers curl around the collar of the jacket carefully, almost tenderly. “Really?”

Shiro tilts his head inquisitively.

“I could argue that it looks better on you,” Keith continues smoothly. …Oh god, this is too much for Shiro’s weak heart.

“In that case, we’d never stop arguing over who looks better with it,” Shiro mumbles, fighting the urge to bury his burning face in his palms.

A soft chuckle floats through the quiet night. “Goodnight, Shiro. I’ll see you around, I hope?”

“Definitely,” Shiro replies. “Goodnight, Keith.” After more lingering looks, Keith finally turns away and jogs up the pathway. Shiro waits until Keith is out of sight before he slips on the helmet and heads home. During the ride, all he can think of is the feeling of Keith pressed up against his back and the weight of Keith’s arms around his waist.

It’s simultaneously the longest and the fastest trip home in his life.

 

 

 

  
The next time Shiro returns to the club, he walks right over to the Red Room and manages to glimpse Keith through sheer red curtains. He doesn’t want to be too hopeful, but he’s pretty sure Keith’s eyes light up at the sight of him. Keith seems to be busy though, judging by the crowd of enraptured patrons staring up at him as he executes trick after trick on the pole.

“Sorry love,” Allura says, appearing next to him with a whiff of fresh mint and vanilla. “He’s got a bachelor party to entertain.”

“I, uh, wasn’t –” His words die on his lips at the knowing look Allura gives him. “Right. I’m just gonna go back to the others.”

“I’ll send him over on his break,” Allura calls after him. His face is beet red by the time he takes a seat next to Ryan, and even the purple hue of the room fails to hide his embarrassment. James is so amused that he misjudges the distance to the table and ends up breaking a beer bottle on the ground.

The cherry on top of the sundae? Allura is someone who actually keeps her word. Nadia is in the middle of telling everyone about the puppy she’d just recently adopted with Veronica when a hand curls around his neck and thumbs at the spot where his jaw meets his earlobe.

“Hi.” Soft and warm by Shiro’s ear.

Shiro all but melts into Keith’s touch.

“ _Hi_ ,” James says loudly. He grins at the murderous glare Shiro throws in his direction.

A chuckle, and Shiro shudders when he feels lips brush the shell of his ear.

“I can’t be away for long,” Keith says, “Lance is alone in there and he’s either a god on stage or a disaster. No one knows until it actually happens.”

Twisting around in his seat, Shiro takes a few seconds to drink in the sight of Keith. Long legs are clad in crimson fishnet thigh-highs and red pumps, a pair of black boyshorts the only thing keeping him modest. Shiro’s pretty sure everyone else within a ten-metre radius is also checking him out, but he finds comfort in the fact that Keith only seems to have eyes for him.

“How are the cuts?” Shiro asks, gaze lingering on a toned thigh.

“Healing like a dream,” Keith replies. He lifts a leg and drapes it across the back of the couch. Ryan clears his throat and immediately flees to the opposite couch where he forces himself between Ina and Nadia. “Wanna check?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Shiro hears Nadia hiss. There are so many pairs of eyes on him, but Shiro sets a large hand on Keith’s thigh and pulls the band of a thigh-high down past his knee. He runs fingertips along the expanse of smooth skin, feeling slight roughness where scabs have formed and are starting to fall off.

“Seems like you’re right,” he says, punctuating the last word with a squeeze. Keith leans in, leg still slung across the back of the couch, and nips at the plush curve of Shiro’s bottom lip.

“Well, you’re good with a first-aid kit,” Keith murmurs, thumbing at the spot on Shiro’s lip that he just barely kissed. “I have to go now, but come back soon, okay?”

He disappears in a flurry of red and swaying hips. Shiro watches him go, the feel of Keith’s supple skin beneath his hand still very much seared into his mind.

“He is very flexible,” Ina comments. “Flexibility can be a great bonus when it comes to intercourse.”

Ryan spits out a mouthful of his drink.

Word spreads through the city like wildfire after that night – Keith is not to be touched and not to be propositioned unless you’d like a metal fist to the face.

 

 

 

  
Spring is transitioning into summer, which translates into a busier period for Shiro as his gyms start seeing an influx in gym-goers preparing for ‘summer bodies’. It takes a couple of weeks for him to adapt to the increase in work demands and delegate tasks, and as a result, he hasn’t been able to spend a night at _Paladins_ with the others.

Tonight, he’s busy checking all the equipment in one of the bigger branches, with only his best friend and business partner as company.

He’s halfway done when his phone vibrates with a text from James.

_keith asked for you, wondered why you haven’t been here since that day. i told him you’ve been busy with work._

The pen in Shiro’s hand slips out of his grip and clatters to the ground, landing between two treadmills. Matt turns around at the noise and frowns at his friend.

“What’s with that constipated look on your face?”

“Shut up,” he replies automatically, hunching down to retrieve his pen. While he’s down there, he types out a quick reply to James.

_tell him i’ll be there tmrw night_

“Tell who you’ll be where tomorrow night?”

Shiro yelps in shock and the back of his head collides painfully against the handrest of the treadmill behind him.

“Fucking – stop _doing_ that,” he hisses, rubbing at the sore spot. Matt shrugs, expression a picture of innocence.

“I will if you just answer my questions instead of always telling me to shut up. You know I’m able to find things out pretty easily, right?”

After making sure he’s got his best I’m Terribly Unimpressed With You look plastered on his face, Shiro stands and nudges Matt away with a hand to the chest. “You’re so nosy,” he grouses.

“I’m your best friend; it’s my job to be nosy,” Matt points out, trailing after Shiro as he checks the row of treadmills.

“Technically, it’s your job to help me with this checklist,” Shiro returns, flapping the clipboard in his hands. Matt sniffs and strides over to the punching bags.

“Fine, be that way. I’ll ask my sister,” he says primly, and Shiro knows he’s lost.

 

 

 

  
He gets to _Paladins_ later than he usually does, the line outside already obnoxiously long. The other four bikes are parked in a neat line, and Shiro fits his baby into the space next to Nadia’s Rivale 800. At the door, Hunk greets him with a friendly smile and a slap to the back, and Romelle practically lets out a shriek at the sight of him.

“I thought you’d forgotten all about us,” she pouts, hooking a hand around Shiro’s elbow as she escorts him in.

“Never gonna happen,” Shiro promises, giving her a kiss to the cheek before she takes her leave. Nadia and James let out whoops at the sight of Shiro, loud enough for him to hear over the heavy bass of the music, and he gives his friends a deep bow in thanks.

The cushions mould to the curve of his back the second he settles down. Somehow, this place always manages to strip off the layers upon layers of stress that work tends to smother him in.

“I really need a –”

Ryan pushes a glass over. “Got you your kryptonite,” he grins.

Alcohol slides down his throat, hot and smooth, and Shiro lets out a pleased exhale when it hits his stomach.

“Good shit,” he hums, running metallic fingers through his hair.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” James says. He takes a pull on his bottle of beer and gestures in the direction of the Red Room. “Don't you have someone to find?”

Nadia snorts, leaning over to tap on the bottom of Shiro’s glass. “Let him get a little tipsy first,” she says. “I have a feeling he’ll need the alcohol.”

“It certainly does help lower your inhibitions,” Ina agrees, popping a pretzel into her mouth. Nadia gestures at her with a sweep of her arm. _See?_

Shiro opens his mouth to argue, but he catches sight of the glints in his friends’ eyes and he goes with what is probably the smartest decision – he takes another sip of his drink.

 

 

 

  
He’s heading back from the bathroom when a warm hand circles his wrist and pulls him into an empty alcove. Everything happens much too quickly for Shiro’s fuzzy brain – he’s two and a half drinks in by now –, and by the time he finally regains his bearings, he’s seated on a loveseat with a lapful of Keith. The dancer’s in a strappy number tonight, thin latex strips branching down from the collar around his neck, crisscrossing his slender frame and hugging his hips.

“Hello,” Keith says pleasantly, slinging his arms around Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro can’t stop staring at his lips, painted blood red to match his outfit.

“Hi,” Shiro replies, mouth suddenly dry.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come back,” Keith continues, deft fingers running down the front of Shiro’s dress shirt and slipping one of the top buttons free from its hole.

It takes another two open buttons for Shiro to shake some sense back into himself.

“Hey, you know you don’t owe me anything for that night, right?”

Keith’s fingers pause at a button above Shiro’s navel. Their gazes meet.

“Right,” he says after a beat. His brows furrow and Shiro reads uncertainty in Keith’s eyes. He wonders just how often Keith has to mask such feelings. “I just –” Keith seems to deflate.

Pressing his left hand to the small of Keith’s back, he rubs soothing arcs across the ridge of Keith’s spine with his thumb. “I don’t mind spending time with you,” Shiro says, giving Keith some time to collect his thoughts. “I just need you to understand that you do not owe me for that night.”

He waits for Keith to speak, taking the time to slip several locks of hair behind Keith’s ear. His prosthetic fingers can’t pick up on textures, but Shiro is pretty sure Keith’s hair is as silky as it looks.

“Okay,” Keith says eventually. “I understand.” He slips a hand under the open panel of Shiro’s shirt and places his palm over the curve of a pec, right where he can feel a strong heartbeat.

Shiro can’t help himself – he brushes the tip of a metal finger against the swell of Keith’s lip. The digit comes away with a smudge of red on its surface.

“You said,” Keith mumbles, tongue darting out to wet the spot on his lip that Shiro’s finger has just touched. “You said you wouldn’t mind spending time with me.”

“I’d love to spend time with you,” Shiro replies, heat shooting past his collar and straight to his ears. “If-if you’d like.”

To his surprise, Keith huffs out a laugh and leans closer, the distance between their faces dwindling to a mere few inches. His knees pull up higher to rest against Shiro’s hips, and it only feels natural for Shiro to loop his arms around the dips of Keith’s waist.

“Yeah, I’d like.”

His smile is genuine and _beautiful_ , somehow managing to light up the deep purple of his eyes. Shiro gives him a smile in return, and he’s rewarded with a brush of lips against his cheek.

 

 

 

  
Shiro trips over Ryan’s foot the second he steps out of the club, and if it wasn’t for James’ quick reflexes, he might’ve broken his nose on the pavement.

He’s barely back on his feet before James starts demanding information. “Where the hell have you been? I thought you passed out in the bathroom, but I went to check and you weren’t in there.”

Shiro clears his throat and tries to smoothen out the wrinkles in his shirt. Nothing escapes Ina’s sharp eyes, however, and her eyes bug out of their sockets when she spots the red smudge on his collar.

“I see. Did you sleep with him?”

“What – _no!_ We talked, learned a little bit about each other – his favourite colour is red, he has a black Labrador named Kosmo, and he loves to stargaze. Like me! Um, he’s an only child, recently reunited –”

Ina clears her throat, stopping Shiro in the middle of his ramblings. She points at the lipstick mark and says nothing else.

“...And we made out a little.”

His friends form a wall in front of him, arms crossed and equally expectant looks on their faces.

“...I gave him my number.”

James raises an eyebrow.

“...We have a date set for next Friday.”

Nadia sticks out her hand, and Ryan sighs heavily before pulling a twenty out of his wallet and placing it on her open palm.

 

 

 

  
The sky is bleeding red and gold, remnants of the sun’s warmth that Shiro can no longer feel. The salt spray of the ocean is strong against his tongue, and Shiro gazes up at a couple of seagulls gliding through the evening air.

Keith was the one who asked for a date, a date that Shiro easily agreed to. He’d wanted to meet at the beach that ran for miles along the coast of the city, at a particular strip that’s quiet and peaceful, tucked away from the public eye. Shiro’s early, so he takes some time to enjoy the sunset as he leans against his bike, parked at the edge of the deserted highway.

His ears perk up at the rich rumble of an engine coming from his left, and what he sees when he turns around has his jaw dropping.

It’s Keith, helmet hiding that gorgeous face but his outfit doing nothing to hide his lean frame. But what _really_ has Shiro’s heart racing is the fact that Keith is on a motorcycle – a Ducati Diavel, to be specific. The engine cuts off as soon as Keith pulls up to the side of Shiro’s bike, and the helmet is blessedly removed to reveal a gorgeous face.

“Sorry I’m late – Kosmo needed to be walked and Lance refused to get off the couch.” He smirks at the look on Shiro’s face. “I see you like the bike?”

Shiro lets out a stream of air. Stepping around his bike, he reaches up and pulls Keith’s face down with gentle hands.

“Love it,” he replies, and kisses him.

Somehow, Keith manages to get off his bike with their lips still attached. Shiro backs the dancer up against his bike, palms resting against the still-warm seat and bracketing Keith between his arms.

“Didn’t know you rode a bike,” Shiro says, mouthing along the edge of his jaw.

“I can ride _many_ things,” Keith replies breathlessly, pulling Shiro’s hair out of its ponytail and tangling his fingers amongst the strands. Behind them, ocean waves crash against the shoreline, and the sun dips a little further into a swath of rouge.

“There’s a little cave just behind those rocks,” Keith goes on to say, dropping a kiss on the bridge of Shiro’s nose, right at the thickest section of his scar.

“Oh?”

Keith grins and unzips his jacket, the _click click click_ of each set of the zipper’s teeth separating causing Shiro’s blood pressure to skyrocket. When Shiro realises that it’s _his_ jacket that Keith’s wearing, he closes his eyes and sends a prayer to the gods for some sanity.

 

 

 

  
The sky is awash with purple now, and Shiro thinks it’s fitting how Keith’s silhouette is highlighted by the colour of his eyes. Turns out the cave is actually where Keith said it would be, and they’ve turned it into a place for discarded clothes. Well, Keith has – Shiro’s been ordered to stand against the rock face as Keith strips himself of each article of clothing on his body, hips swaying to music only he can hear.

It’s a private striptease on an empty beach, and Shiro can’t believe it’s actually happening.

The jacket’s long been tossed aside, along with a belt, combat boots, and socks. Shiro shoves his hands into his pockets in hopes that would dull the urge to reach out and touch, but when Keith pulls up the hem of his shirt and shows Shiro just what he’s got beneath, Shiro knows his self-control is not going to last.

There’s a thin, black band of lace hugging the narrowest part of Keith’s waist, and Shiro is pretty sure he’s never seen anything sexier in his life.

“Keith,” he begins, but Keith places a finger to his lips and Shiro shuts up obediently.

The black t-shirt joins the rest of Keith’s clothes on the beach, and Shiro watches as that sinful waist subtly undulates to a secret beat. The button of Keith’s skinny jeans are popped, and the zipper’s tugged down. Here, Keith takes a few steps closer to where Shiro’s standing with his back ramrod straight and hooks his thumbs into the waistband.

“Am I being too forward?” Keith asks, the features of his face shrouded by shadows. The sun has set by now, the moon the only thing providing them with light.

“Not if you’re fully comfortable with this,” Shiro says. Leaning down, he buries his nose in Keith’s hair and inhales. Milk and honey. Apart from that, he keeps his hands to himself.

He feels Keith nod, and when he pulls back, Keith’s already starting to push his jeans down past his hips. That violet gaze flickers from Shiro’s lips up to his eyes – Shiro swallows.

Then Keith bends to pull the jeans off. Shiro hears it land on the pile of clothes, but he keeps his eyes on Keith’s until the latter steps back and straightens up.

“Like it?”

Oh. The lace thong has scalloped edges running along the seam of Keith’s thighs, and there’s a matching band of black lace around Keith’s right thigh.

“Love it,” Shiro says, voice rough with unbridled desire.

“Take a seat,” Keith murmurs, tugging Shiro over to his pile of clothes. “I’m great at stripteases, but I’m even better at lapdances.”

At that, Shiro has to take a deep, calming breath before he does as he’s told.

 

 

 

  
The lapdance doesn’t last long, neither of them able to hold it together for an extended period of time. Shiro’s now naked as well, save for his boxer shorts, and Keith’s breath is warm against the column of his neck as he rubs their clothed cocks together with languid rolls of his hips. The drooling head of Keith’s cock is peeking out of the band of his panties, moonlight glinting off the wetness.

Shiro fiddles with the lace around Keith’s waist, running fingers beneath it and along it. His prosthetic hand cups an ass cheek, encouraging each rock of Keith’s hips with gentle squeezes and pats.

“So, you bike?”

That draws a breathless chuckle out of Keith. “Yeah. Got my first bike when I turned sixteen.”

“Anything else I should know about you before you take me by surprise again? In the best way possible, of course.”

“I got this scar from a knife fight,” Keith says, pointing to his cheek. “I won.”

Shiro kisses the scar. “Mark of a true warrior.”

Keith simply runs a finger along Shiro’s scar and smiles.

“I was a troubled teenager. Flitted between a bunch of foster homes, got shitty grades, and gave my teachers hell. It took a kind soul to make me understand that I needed to believe in myself, that I needed to give myself a chance.”

Keith brushes his thumbs across Shiro’s nipples and grins dopily at the jerk of Shiro’s erection against his.

“You remind me of him, actually. A man with the heart of a lion and a heart of gold.”

“As long as I’m cuter,” Shiro says, returning the favour and rolling one of Keith’s dusky nipples between his thumb and forefinger. A bead of precome soaks into the fabric of Keith’s panties.

“So much cuter,” Keith assures him, then proceeds to pick up the pace.

To gain some ground, Shiro winds an arm around Keith’s waist – right over the lace – and slips a cool finger between Keith’s cheeks to press lightly against his hole. Keith’s lips part and his eyes widen as that finger starts to rub in tight little circles, jostling the thin string of fabric and sending jolts of pleasure up his spine.

Keith’s nails are digging into the flesh of Shiro’s shoulders, little moans tumbling out of his mouth and into Shiro’s as they trade messy kisses.

Shiro can feel toned thighs start to tremble against his hips.

“Wanna come for me?”

Fingers fly up to grip a handful of hair. Shiro takes that as a yes, and sure enough, Keith comes with a shudder and a moan pressed into the crook of Shiro’s neck. Shiro follows suit, the feeling of Keith’s release soaking through his underwear pushing him over the edge.

They don’t go home until much later, stripping off completely for a skinny dipping session before finding a flat rock to lie on in order to stargaze.

“Hey,” Keith says, “have you ever thought about what it’d be like up there?”

“In space?”

Keith hums.

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “I grew up wanting to be an astronaut, actually.”

“Why didn’t you become one?”

Shiro extends his prosthetic arm with a wry smile and Keith wrinkles his nose apologetically.

“Sorry, that was a really stupid question.”

“It’s okay. Maybe I’ll get a piloting license someday. I’ll still be amongst the stars, right?”

The fabric of Keith’s (Shiro’s) jacket rustles beneath his head when he turns to look at Shiro. He drinks in the chiseled planes of Shiro’s face, the little bump along the otherwise straight bridge of his nose, and how his hair spills over the rock like a puddle of mercury.

“Did you know,” he whispers, “that I’m already amongst the stars?”

Shiro looks over at him, slate grey eyes anything but cold.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It all started with something that felt a lot like the Big Bang.” His lips curve up into a smile when Shiro props himself up on an elbow and leans over him. “Sometimes I think the stars look at me like I’m the sun.”

“They should, if they’ve seen you.”

Keith laughs and Shiro drinks it all up.

 

 

 

  
After that night, they start seeing each other in earnest.

While Shiro thinks Keith is downright sinful when he’s working at _Paladins_ , he thinks Keith is a dozen times lovelier in bright daylight, ebony hair fluttering in the wind as they meander through neighbourhood streets on their bikes, lips coated with nothing but a thin layer of lip balm that shines when he smiles. Keith is a siren in the club, but he’s a lovebug everywhere else.

Shiro rarely lets anyone ride his darling bike, but with Keith, it takes only a simple, “Shiro, wanna trade bikes?” for him to hand over his keys.

It’s almost like learning to walk again. The seat of Keith’s Ducati is a full inch lower and the bike is almost a hundred pounds heavier than his own. He doesn’t want to cause any damage to Keith’s bike, so he straddles it with a shot of nervousness.

“You look nice on my bike,” Keith comments, spinning Shiro’s keys around his index finger. “I’m sure it’ll enjoy being between those thighs of yours,” he adds with a wink, laughing when Shiro blushes red.

It’s also extremely private, Shiro realises as he watches Keith get onto his bike. He views his motorcycle as a part of himself, and entrusting it completely to someone else is almost akin to giving them a piece of your soul.

“Race you to the end of the street,” Keith calls over his shoulder. “Winner gets to decide what we have for dinner tonight.”

“That’s it?”

“Winner also gets to decide what we do in bed tonight.”

Shiro’s never gone from 0 to 60 so quickly in his life. He wins, but Keith blames it on the fact that the Ducati has greater horsepower, and Shiro ends up giving his win to Keith.

That night, freshly showered and bellies full with homemade ravioli – it turns out they’re quite a team in the kitchen –, Keith curls up against Shiro’s chest and dozes off to the sound of Shiro’s heartbeat and a rerun of Harry Potter. He doesn’t even stir when Matt comes home and trips over his own sock.

Four months after he decked Mikael in the jaw, Shiro decides that his favourite colour is purple and that his bike is no longer the love of his life.

 

 

 

  
Winter’s around the corner, riding close on the heels of chilly winds and bleak skies. Thankfully, the weather doesn’t put too much of a damper on their moods – today is their six-month anniversary, and despite the cold breeze, Shiro is toasty warm with Keith plastered against his back.

Keith’s fingers tap out a lazy beat against Shiro’s sternum as they weave through traffic, one hand slipping under the hem of Shiro’s turtleneck to rest against contours of defined abs.

At a stoplight, Shiro threads his fingers between Keith’s and gives them a squeeze.

It takes them almost half an hour to get to their destination, a place that Shiro had to call in a ton of favours in order to reserve for the night.

“Where are we?” Keith asks the second the engine is killed.

Shiro simply smiles and leads Keith up the stairs. He can hear Keith’s breath hitch the second they step through the door.

“Shiro,” Keith says slowly. “Is this place what I think it is?”

“It’s the science museum’s observatory. I called in a favour with someone who works here. We have the whole place to ourselves for the night and access to the telescope.”

It’s not a stretch to say that Shiro’s gift is the look of utter joy and excitement on Keith’s face.

“The skies are supposed to be clear tonight,” Shiro says, pulling Keith over to the middle of the room. “I’ve got a super fluffy blanket, a couple of beers, that lasagne you really like, and a dozen strips of super crispy bacon.”

“Can we have dessert first?” Keith asks, shrugging out of his jacket. He flings it across the room, and Shiro barely gets to appreciate the look of his boyfriend in an oversized cream sweater before that too, gets discarded. Is it that hot inside?

“Dessert?” Shiro pales. “I thought you hated everything sweet. I didn’t bring –”

“ _God_ , Shiro,” Keith groans, fiddling with the laces of his combat boots. “You’re so fucking pure that sometimes I can’t believe you’re actually mine. _You’re_ my dessert, Shiro. And I’m yours. So lay out that fluffy blanket and get naked.”

 

 

 

  
The fluffy blanket feels incredibly weird against his bare ass, but Shiro will absolutely deal with it because he’s got a whimpering Keith on his lap, cock trapped between their torsos as Shiro slowly slides deep into him.

“Oh fuck,” Keith gasps, grabbing a handful of Shiro’s hair and pulling. “Fuck, I love how big you are. You fill me up so – _oh!_ ”

Shiro cradles the base of Keith’s head with a hand and tilts it back to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Look at up the stars, baby. Look at how they glimmer, at their quiet beauty.”

He keeps Keith’s hips steady with his other hand, angled perfectly so that each push of his cock inside that velvety slick heat causes Keith to shudder. Keith obeys with a moan, lidded eyes gazing up at the sky.

“It really is beautiful,” Keith mumbles. “You really like making love to me under the stars, huh?”

“Well,” Shiro says, rising up on his knees to lay Keith down on the blanket. “I like making love to you, and I really like stars. Putting the two of them together is just a win-win situation, really.”

He spreads Keith’s thighs apart – after all these months, witnessing Keith’s flexibility still manages to send a rush of blood straight to his cock.

“Keep your eyes up there,” he says. He stops moving his hips, instead choosing to wrap a hand around Keith’s purpling cock. Keith fists the blanket at the touch, back arching and kiss-red lips parting, but his eyes never leave the stars.

In turn, Shiro keeps his eyes on Keith. He strokes Keith several times before pausing to push impossibly deep into Keith’s hole, then promptly returns to fisting his cock. It’s mind-numbing, Shiro tearing his gaze away from Keith’s face to look down at where Keith’s clenching around him, at the spasms of his hips whenever Shiro’s completely inside him, at the strings of precome that give Keith’s abs a lovely sheen.

“Deeper,” Keith moans, face twisting in pleasure. His eyes are watering. “Please, Shiro, I want to feel all of you.”

“You _are_ feeling all of me, baby.” As if to highlight his point, Shiro pushes in again until there’s nothing left to feed into Keith’s eager entrance. “See? You take me so well.” Keith lets out a strangled cry, ass trembling and his entire body jerking. Shiro doesn’t ease up on grinding into Keith, pressing his thumb along his stretched rim and groaning when Keith’s walls slam down around him in response.

Keith comes suddenly, eyes finally screwed shut in pleasure when he releases in thick spurts over his chest. Shiro milks him through it, squeezing as much come out of Keith as he possibly can until Keith is all fucked out, after which he lifts slim hips and drives into him at a brutal pace.

Oversensitive, Keith lets out little hiccups of _fuck, more, stop, i can’t_ until Shiro climaxes.

“I love you,” Keith blurts. His chest is heaving, there are locks of hair sticking to his forehead, and colour is blazing in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Shiro says, leaning down to capture Keith’s lips in a deep kiss.

“I don’t think you understand,” Keith blabbers, squishing Shiro’s face between shaky palms. “I would slay all of your nightmares for you, I would go across the galaxy for you, I would –”

“Keith. I understand, and I love you too,” Shiro says softly, thumbing at the crease between Keith’s eyebrows until it fades away. “You’re my sun, remember?”

Keith laughs, a little breathless, a little shaky, and a lot in love. He lets Shiro pepper kisses all over his face until his heart settles down.

“Shiro?”

“Yeah, love.”

“Wanna have a competition to see who can name the most constellations? Loser forfeits two strips of bacon.”

“You’re on.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**An Epilogue, Of Sorts**

  
Kosmo looks like he’s just rolled around in powdered sugar. He’s having the time of his life, flopping through inches of fluffy snow as he runs up and down the length of Shiro’s terrace. Matt’s out there too, on dog watching duty, but everyone knows he loves spending time with the labrador. Shiro knows living with a dog – and a big one at that – will be a big adjustment, but he also knows that the change is very much worth it.

“I still can’t believe you have a whole walk-in closet left unused,” Keith grunts, shoving a couple more boxes into the otherwise empty space.

“You’ve dated me for a year and a half – how many outfits have you seen me in?” Shiro tosses a few dozen clothes hangers onto a shelf.

That is a fair point, so Keith just gives his boyfriend an amused look before opening a box and pulling out a handful of shirts.

“I’m gonna go make some coffee,” Shiro announces. “How many shots of espresso do you want today?”

“Two,” Keith answers, leaning over his boxes to give Shiro a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Forty-five minutes later and Keith is knee-deep in clothes as caffeine makes its way throughout his body. Matt’s giving Kosmo a bath in the guest bathroom – Kosmo’s bathroom, now – and Shiro’s wandering through the penthouse, trying to find spots for all of Keith’s photographs.

He places a framed picture of them on the bedside table, smiling down at the happy faces staring right back at him. The picture was taken just a few months ago at a carnival; Shiro’s got his arms full with a happy but exhausted Kosmo, and Keith’s gazing at the both of them with a disgusting amount of affection.

“Hey,” he says, sticking his head into the walk-in closet. Keith’s got two pairs of heels in his hands and a raincoat (?) slung over his forearm. “Nice outfit.”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny,” Keith deadpans. “Did you come here just to make fun of my wardrobe choices?”

“No, I came here to tell you I love you.”

Mollified, Keith offers his cheek up for a kiss.

“Hey, mom wants to come over for dinner soon,” he says, carefully setting the shoes down on a shelf. “So does Lance. He’s super upset that he still hasn’t been to your place after all this time.”

“We’ll just host a huge housewarming party for you,” Shiro shrugs. “Get them all fed and drunk, then we’ll kick them all out right before we tumble into bed.”

Keith snorts, picking out a latex bodysuit in a shade of cherry red and another in mahogany. “You’re definitely the one responsible for planning that party.” He holds out the bodysuits. “Which one?”

“For work or for my personal pleasure?”

“Work,” Keith laughs. “But it could also be for your personal pleasure when I come home.”

Shiro points at the cherry red bodysuit. “That one. I like the way it fits on your body – somehow, your legs always look exceptionally long in them.” He glances at his watch. “Actually, do you wanna put it on for me now?”

“You know I would, but I don’t want to be late to work,” Keith says, eyes sparkling.

“I’m sure Allura wouldn’t mind,” Shiro wheedles, pushing piles of clothes out of the way so he can step closer to Keith. He yanks the smaller man to him, Keith sliding an arm around Shiro’s middle automatically. “The walls are thick enough, so you can be as loud as you want. I’ll eat you out _and_ plug you.”

“You’re the louder one,” Keith points out, but he’s already in the process of stripping, legs working to kick off his sweats. “Get on the bed, Shirogane. If I’m gonna be late, you better make this worthwhile.”

 

 

 

  
Keith actually ends up being late, even after choosing to forgo the plug, knowing from experience that it’ll simply get in the way of him doing his job. His bodysuit is a soiled mess on the floor – he ended up having to wear the mahogany – and Shiro’s got scratches all down his biceps that he admires in the bathroom mirror.

 _i know you’re the reason keith is late,_ Allura texts. _you better make it up to me. he’s my best dancer and every minute he’s not around means whiny customers. you know i hate whiny customers!!_

_anything u want :*_

When he finally rolls out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen for a snack, he finds Matt curled up with Kosmo on the couch, looking a little ill. Kosmo’s tail wags excitedly at his approach.

“You feeling okay? Did you catch a cold from spending so much time outside?”

“No,” Matt hisses. “I look like this because the walls aren’t _that_ thick, Shiro!”

**Author's Note:**

> Tidbits:
> 
> 1) Shiro is filthy rich in this universe. He just doesn't really flaunt it on a daily basis.  
> 2) Matt is Shiro's housemate, if that wasn't clear in any sense.  
> 3) [This](http://www.onebalharbor.com/images/one_bal_harbour/floorplans/medium/obh_g.gif) is Shiro's penthouse! He sleeps in the Master, and Matt is in the guest.  
> 4) [This](https://cdn.rideapart.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/2011-MV-Agusta-F3-675-2-770x513.jpg) is Shiro's bike, [this](https://cdn.rideapart.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/2011-Ducati-Diavel-2-770x577.jpg) is Keith's, and [this](https://cdn.rideapart.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/mv-agusta-rivale-800-20.jpg) is Nadia's.  
> 5) [This](https://s3.amazonaws.com/images.charitybuzz.com/images/54976/original.jpg) is pretty much what the club looks like.
> 
>  
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine) Also, follow me on twitter @sheiganes_ !


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